


I Missed You

by lyn452



Series: Children of Fire [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Incest, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-20 11:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19376095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyn452/pseuds/lyn452
Summary: Missing Scene from Children of Fire. The smut that was promised.





	I Missed You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliciutza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Alice!

They had much to attend to now that they had taken King’s Landing. People to get into place, a progress to plan. But Rhaella didn’t want to deal with any of that right now. She just wanted to take a day for herself. She decided to wander the keep a bit, avoiding anyone that might be looking for her.

She had killed her cousin. She should feel something about that, but she felt nothing. She hadn’t known Bran Stark, hadn’t known anything about him but that he was threatening her and her family and therefore had to die. 

Rhaella entered the throne room again, it had been cleared out but not cleaned. So there was still ash on the throne and blood on the floor. Fire and Blood, she thought. She certainly lived up to her house words. 

She thought of her mother. All she sacrificed to get here, just to lose it all once it was hers. And for what? Because she loved a man unconditionally who couldn’t do the same for her? Because men liked to see men on the throne in this country? Because innocent lives were lost in war like they always were, but it only bothered anyone when a woman was guilty of it? 

Rhaella wanted to burn this fucking building to the ground. Burn this entire continent. They weren’t worth saving.  

“That’s not a good look.” Daeron walked in both regally and causally. It was a feat only he could accomplish. Rhaella had always admired how her brother could play both the role of king and commoner at the same time. She could do one or the other but never both. “Did you change your mind about Tyrion’s punishment?” 

He took her face in his hand, his thumb brushing over her lips. He was careful to keep his fingers from her injuries. Rhaella leaned into his touch, her own hand grasping his wrist. She had missed him. Missed this. She’d been living on the streets of Flea Bottom for their ruse for months now. She could live without feather beds and silk linens, but she had wanted Daeron by her side. Even as children when they hadn’t shared a bed, she had often snuck into his room to sleep in his second bed. They both had them, as their mother had finally given in and gave them both two twins when she caught them sneaking to each other every night.

Daenerys had never encouraged their relationship though she hadn’t discouraged it either. She seemed willing to let her children follow their own hearts and Rhaella had always loved her mother for that. 

People called her mother a monster, and they would call her and Daeron that too. Rhaella was fine with that. She would rather be a monster than a sheep. Rather eat than be eaten. 

Rhaella looked at the ugly throne. It had stairs in the front and a ramp from the back so that the king could be wheeled into place. There was an unused bench but enough room in front to place Bran the Broken. Rhaella didn’t know what was sadder, that they had built this throne for one specific king or that they attempted to have modifications for the ones they thought would come behind Bran the Broken. 

She looked away, focusing on the rest of the room. She asked, “Do you think this is where it happened? In this room?”

She didn’t have to explain what it was, Daeron understood. “I don’t know. The Red Keep was a ruin when it happened,” His hand trailed down her body, brushing against her breast to stop at her hip where he gave her a squeeze. Then he let go and took a seat near the throne, but not on it.

They were both avoiding actually sitting on the throne, Rhaella had noticed. As though avoiding the chair would help them avoid the responsibility. Daeron had never wanted it, she knew. He would have been happier as a maester. It was only the vow of celibacy that really kept him from that path as he would never give her up. 

Though she knew that celibacy with maesters these days was as enforced as it had been in the Night’s Watch, which was to say, barely enforced at all. Most of the once great institutions of Westeros had fallen into disrepair in recent years, starting with the Baratheon rule. Bran’s Kingsguard had fallen far too easily under her blades, though she’d heard his best, Brienne of Tarth had been away tending to her sick father, but it was no excuse. Rhaella would see it fixed. She and Daeron would usher in a new age for Westeros, even if they had to drag the country into it, kicking and screaming.

“We died here, Daeron.” Rhaella looked around the room, mapping the scene her in mind. Their mother hadn’t liked talking about what had happened, so Rhaella had filled in some gaps with her own imagination, but she still saw the major players: Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow and Drogon.

Daeron closed his eyes. “I try not to think about that.”

“It was the first title we ever acquired: born dead.”

“Sometimes I feel dead, like I’m just going through the motions of life, never feeling anything.” He opened his eyes, his dark violet turning darker as he looked at her. “Then I see you and I’m alive. You make me live, Rhae.” 

Rhaella felt her loins stir at his words and his look. She often thought that Daeron and her had been destined, but with his silver tongue, Daeron could have anyone he wanted. That silver tongue that could charm and convenience anyone to do whatever he wanted. That silver tongue that could work over her cunt like he was born to pleasure her and always left her a shuddering, sobbing mess. 

She pushed her arousal down, and quipped with a raised eyebrow, “Did that Faceless Man not please you in bed?”

Daeron snorted. “I will forever regret not learning how to steal faces from Arya when I had the chance. I could’ve been a sidewalk preacher while you played the Targaryen queen with a fake me at your side.”

Rhaella shook her head. “That wouldn’t have worked and you know it. You needed to be the real Targaryen, the one spreading our message and warging to throw the Three-Eyed Raven off our true scent.”

Daeron pouted. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have to sleep with a Faceless man for two weeks.” His hand combed through his short silver hair. “I slept even worse than usual because I was terrified he’d slit my throat. Despite our agreement.”

“Two weeks?” They had agreed he would sleep together with her copy, but there would be no sex. The reason they orchestrated for the Raven was so as not to have children in the middle of war.

“That’s when I decided to stage a fight.” Daeron shrugged. “I figured it might be good for us to look like we were on the outs or just a marriage of duty. Like Aegon I and Visenya, who everyone likes to compare us to.” 

It also might have blown their cover, but Rhaella let it go. She wouldn’t have exactly liked sleeping with a Faceless man either, so who was to say she wouldn’t have done the same thing?

She looked at the pool of blood on the floor again. If this was the room, that might have been where her own mother’s blood pooled. Where she’d bleed out, killing her and Daeron. She thought of her father, the faceless Jon Snow, and his reasons for doing what he did. She knew she must be the child that took after him, as she caught her mother staring at her sometimes, with both sorrow and longing. The man had been a curiosity for her as a child, but Daeron had been the one who desperately wanted a father. She found it easy to let him go when she discovered he’d done. Daeron was more forgiving, mostly because he wanted to know the man he’d spent an entire childhood imagining. Rhaella would be happy to never meet the man, but if Daeron wanted, they would end their progress at the Wall. She stared at the dried blood on the floor. “Would you ever do it to me?” She asked in a whisper. “Kill me for the greater good?”

“Never,” Daeron said with his usual conviction. He stood and walked to her. “Burn the world, Rhaella. Murder babes in their cribs. Kick and torture small animals. And I will still be at your side.” He pushed one of her dark locks behind her ear. “I am yours, forever. In this life and any that might follow.” He then pulled her hips to his and Rhaella could feel that he was already half-hard. “Be the most evil woman who ever lived, Rhae, and I’ll still worship you.” 

She kissed him and began clawing at his clothes. She didn’t care that their privacy in the throne room wasn’t assured. She wanted him. Now.

As always, Daeron and her were of one mind, as his hands dove under her clothes, seeking out any bare skin he could find. The dried blood on her face and arms didn’t deter him at all. Rhaella loved him for that. She loved him for so much, but as broke away to give them both the chance to catch their breaths, she realized that this was the true reason Targaryens fucked each other more often than not. Dragons were built for dragons, who else would dare ride them?

He licked her lips as a dog would. Rhaella loved that too. Daeron’s wolfblood only showed itself when they were fucking. She loved that everyone else only ever saw the dragon, only Rhaella ever got to see his wolf. Now that his tongue was out to play, he continued licking her, as he walked her back to a pillar. Rhaella barely even noticed they had moved, until her back hit the stone behind her. Daeron gave her no time to think about it, as he continued kissing her and reached for her legs. 

Rhaella didn’t need such encouragement. She undid his belt, pushing his leather pants out of the way so she could get his cock free. She didn’t quite get her hands on it, as he was too impatient for that. Too needy after their months apart. 

He pushed up her silk skirt and got rid of her small clothes. His fingers danced along her slit, making sure she was ready for him. “I fucking love that you always wear dresses, despite the fact it makes no goddamn practical sense.”

She loved that despite being a king, her brother still swore like a common bastard. Daeron threw a leg over his shoulder as he fucked her against one of the pillars. His hips snapped against hers with a savage force that might have hurt or frightened a green maid. But not a dragon. She loved this about him. Her brother was all fire. He could warm her like a home hearth, providing her with comfort and home, but he could burn like a raging inferno just as easily, fucking her so hard that she was sore for a week. 

Her nails dug into his shoulders, drawing blood. He was the fire, she was the blood. She said that often, to enemy and friend alike. There was truth in that statement, but they were both. They were both created with shared blood and dragonfire. Daeron hit the spot inside of her that always made her cry out and Rhaella didn’t disappoint now. She adjusted herself so that her husband’s thrusting would always hit that spot.

He didn’t disappoint her either, and it didn’t take long for Rhaella to cry out, her pleasure overwhelming her. Daeron finished shortly after, his seed leaking out of her down her legs. His forehead touched hers as he took a moment to get his breath back. 

Rhaella began to kiss him softly. Her fingertips caressed the marks she’d made on him, before they moved to finish the job of undressing him. This seemed to spurn him to return the favor and before they’d regained their energies, they found themselves naked in the throne room.

Rhaella’s eyes darted to the door, almost expecting someone to come in and ruin this moment, but the Fiery Hand guards didn’t dare let anyone in on their king and queen. Her king, Rhaella thought as she began to kiss her husband a little harder again. Her king. 

She pushed him back. Daeron seemed confused by her actions, but he said nothing. Rhaella toed off her boots, before taking his hands and nearly running up to the throne. When they reached the top platform, Rhaella looked up at her king. He still didn’t question even though she knew he didn’t understand. She kissed him with her tongue, letting her own wolf out to play, before forcing him back. 

“Get on the throne, I’m going to suck you off.” Rhaella threw him on the chair. 

Daeron’s violet eyes were overwhelmed by black. She got on her knees between his spread legs, bowing to the only king she ever would. She was pleased to find that he was hard again. Rhaella smiled, then bent forward to lick the tip of him. She looked up into his eyes, before she said, “Long live the king.”

And then she swallowed him whole. She nearly gagged, as she was out of practice after their months apart, but she found the familiar rhythm soon enough. Daeron’s fingers threaded in her dark curls and he began babbling praise. “Yes, Rhae, R’hllor, right there, like that, fuck me…” He slipped from the Common Tongue into Valyrian and back again. When Rhaella’s teeth accidently met his flesh, he would hiss. Her hands gripped his thighs, as she didn’t have the room with him sitting to play with his stones as she normally would’ve.

He hadn’t needed the extra stimulation, as he growled a warning before shooting into her mouth. Rhaella licked and swallowed every bit of him, until Daeron forced her mouth away from his too sensitive flesh. He brought her up by her hair so he could kiss her, either not tasting himself on her or not caring.

He stood up suddenly, nearly knocking her back, before he guided her to sit on the throne. Rhaella was still uncomfortable at the power and responsibility of such a position, but her husband’s wolfish grin between her thighs made such fears melt like snow. “Your turn, my queen,” was all he said before diving in to lap at her folds.   

Daeron drank deep of her well. One of his hands was at the small of her back, bringing her closer to his greedy mouth, while the other forced a leg open. Now it was Rhaella’s turn to clasp him to her and for her finger to grab at his hair. He was so damned good at this. A silver tongue to match his silver hair. 

Rhaella’s head was thrown back as she panted, moaned and finally screamed. Her eyes opened and she studied the ceiling. She had read that the Red Keep’s throne room had murals on the ceiling depicting the Targaryen victories, but this ceiling had nothing. Beauty was the first thing to die in war, she thought. History the first thing lost. Of course the murals were gone, and of course no one would commission new ones. They wouldn’t want to glorify the Targaryens and didn’t have enough new history to glorify themselves with. 

Daeron was kissing his way up her body, but Rhaella was planning what she would paint on the ceiling, what scenes she wanted remembered for generations. The Targaryens would come again, she thought. I will make sure of it. 

She kissed Daeron when he got to her mouth, but she still felt boneless and couldn’t move to give him room to sit. So he scooped her up in his arms, lifted her and sat with her cuddled up to him. Rhaella closed her eyes and snuggled into his chest, comforted with his arms around her. They stayed like that for a while, both lost in their own thoughts as they recovered their strength.

Daeron looked down at the narrow chair built specially for Bran the Broken’s heir. “We need to build a new throne. One where we can both sit on it, and those that come after us.”

“As long as we get to fuck on that one too.” Rhaella licked his neck, ready for another round. 

Daeron smiled. “As my queen demands.” He kissed her again.


End file.
